


A Wet Dream on Elm Street

by Limecola



Category: A Nightmare on Elm Street (Movies 1984-1994), A Nightmare on Elm Street - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Disfigurement, Dreams and Nightmares, Eye Trauma, Hypnotism, Implied pedophilia, Other, Possession, Revenge, Sexual Violence, Voyeurism, genital trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 19:30:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21142016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Limecola/pseuds/Limecola
Summary: Well this is just nasty.





	A Wet Dream on Elm Street

**Author's Note:**

> Another old fic from my old Tumblr, I'm not particularly proud of how gross this one is but I can't deny it was fun to write.

Your heart was beating so hard, you could hear your blood pulsing inside your ears. Your breath came deep and heavy, coating the inside of your mask with condensation. You tightened your already iron-grip on your knife, just to be sure it wouldn’t slip from your sweaty palm when the blade made contact. Every muscle in your body tensed. Oh, this was exciting. This was the best.

Standing on the other side of a small glass-topped coffee table, his back to the couch he’d just jumped up from, was a familiar man a little older than yourself. He stood there, still and tense, waiting for you to make the first move.

There were two doors and three windows in the room. Both doors were stuck in place thanks to doorstops jammed underneath them from the other side, courtesy of your pre-planning. The windows would take too long to open and climb through if he tried. He was weaponless and caught off-guard, the lights were off and there was no one else in the house. Fool-proof.

“I know who you are.” He stated bluntly, apparently trying to sound brave.

Ha, yeah right.

You would have liked to let this draw out longer, maybe exchanged a little banter. Told him what a douchebag he was and how much he deserved this. But you knew that his roommate would be home in a couple of hours. Better get straight to business, just to make sure you’d have ample clean-up time afterwards.

Abruptly you ran forward, dodged around the coffee table, then charged right at him, aiming the knife at his chest. You figured he’d either try and climb over the couch (stab him in the back) or run around it (stab him in the side), or he’d fall backwards onto the couch in shock (stab him wherever).

The last thing you expected was to feel his hand grab your wrist just as you brought the knife down. You had no idea how he managed to move so fast - usually when the adrenaline was pumping, your reflexes were excellent. But you didn’t have time to think on it, because with surprising strength, your “victim” twisted the knife out of your hand, caught it in his own, then drove the blade solidly into your side. In your shock you didn’t quite feel it as you should have, but a quick glance down told you that it was in deep. He pulled the blade out (you felt THAT, and cried out), and the next thing you knew, you were falling through the top of the coffee table. When you’d gathered your senses, you were lying in a pile of splintered wood, broken glass, and a rapidly expanding pool of blood.

You tried to scramble to your feet, but again he was too quick for you. His foot came down hard on your shoulder, pinning you in place and sending chunks of broken glass deeper into your back.

You gasped in pain just as he ripped the mask off your face.

Honestly, all things considered, you were more confused by this sequence of events than anything. This wasn’t how things usually went. Usually, even without careful planning, you could always count on absurdly good luck to be on your side. This was quite a change of pace.

“Knew it was you,” He growled, crouching over you. “You’re the only person I know who would try something so ridiculous. Even when you were a kid, you were always a freak.”

Anger boiling up inside you, you lashed out with your free arm in an attempt to give him a solid punch in the ribs. But again, fast as lightning, he lurched forward and wrapped his fingers tight around your throat. You tried to claw them off, gasping for breath. Pain and panic welled up inside you, as well as another, less appropriate, but equally strong reaction.

“Bet you’re enjoying this, huh?” He ground his knee into your crotch, and among the other noises that managed to squeeze through your constricted throat, there was definitely a distinct moan in there. “You are, aren’t you? You ACTUALLY are? Holy shit, you really are a fucking freak.”

He ground against you again, and in the swirl of panic, pain, arousal, fear, and anger, you found yourself struggling to push your hips up, trying to get more friction…

Suddenly, you heard an obnoxiously loud crunching noise coming from the couch. While you had more “pressing” issues to address at the moment, the noise caught you off-guard. It seemed truly and bizarrely out-of-place. You turned your head as best you could to see what was causing it.

Sitting on the couch was a very familiar figure in a stripped sweater and ass-clown fedora hat.

“Oh please, don’t mind me,” He grabbed a piece of popcorn out of a 50's-style popcorn box sitting on his lap, flicked it into the air, then caught it in his mouth. “Just pretend like I’m not even here.” He waved a hand in your direction as if saying go on, go on.

Oh.

Shit.

With a surge of embarrassment and panic, you tried to throw your victim/attacker off you. You pulled his hands from your throat, but he fought back, and you had to struggle hard to keep him off.

“F-Freddy, for fucksakes! Get him off me!”

Freddy stuffed a palmful of popcorn into his mouth, then waggled a knifed finger at your friend.

“He’s all yours, kiddo.”

For a few frustrating moments, you thought Krueger meant he was leaving you to deal with your assailant on your own. But you were starting to get your bearings, and with a sinking feeling, you realized the truth.

You took a deep breath, then concentrated on the mental image of your attacker frozen in place. When you opened your eyes, he was still positioned above you, but he wasn’t moving an inch. You put a hand on his chest and pushed him away. He relaxed, falling with a _fwump_ and the crackle of glass to the floor, sitting there blank-faced and still like some kind of living doll.

You checked the stab wound in your side. It was gone, as if it had never been there.

This was YOUR dream. How embarrassing.

“Seems like ya come here often.” Freddy chuckled, watching you figure out your situation with amusement.

Correction: this was your RECURRING dream. It was coming back to you now. You remembered waking up in the middle of the night, whimpering and grinding against your blankets, almost painfully aroused by a dream that seemed to keep coming back.

“Don’t wanna go all Freudian on ya kid, but if this’s your standard wet dream, it miiiiight say a little something about you.”

You bite back a comment about how he was hardly one to judge. “What do you want, Krueger?”

“Oh, y’know. Your body, your soul, your life. The usual.”

“I can’t tomorrow… Today… Whatever.” You sat up, pulling one of the larger pieces of glass out of your shoulder. It came away clean, no blood. “I gotta work.”

“Yeah, ya _do_. For me.”

“Can’t we do Wednesday?” You pleaded, a hint of a whine in your voice. He shook his head unsympathetically, popping another piece of popcorn into his mouth. “My boss is gonna be so mad if I miss another shift. You’re gonna make me lose my job… Unless you want to work my shift for me.” By that of course you meant working the shift in your body, before whatever else he had planned.

He looked like he might actually be considering it, to your surprise. So you continued, “Um, if you do work it just, just make sure to drink a lot of water… I’ve already passed out at work like three times from sunstroke…”

“Where ya work again?”

“Supervising one of the kiddie rides at the fa-” That seemed to pique his interest, and you realized your mistake. “you know what. You don’t have to work my shift. In fact, don’t. Ever. Please don’t work my shift.”

He shrugged as you stood up, glass clattering to the floor as you did your best to shake it from your sweater. You double-checked that the stab wound was really gone - you knew that you were being paranoid, but it had looked fatal, so you wanted to be sure. As you lifted your sweater and ran a hand along your side, Freddy watched you.

“Y’knoow,” He drawled, a devious grin on his face. You didn’t know where he was going, but you had to resist the urge to cut him off immediately with a sharp no. “If seeing your own blood and guts is what gets you riled up, you could’a just told me.”

You ignored the absolute absurdity of the idea that you would ever willingly tell him anything personal about yourself. As if he didn’t take every piece of personal information as an opportunity to mock you. Instead, you decided to take the easy way out and point out the obvious. “Uh, thanks, but I would rather not ACTUALLY die.”

“Heh, I’m sure I could arrange something.” He leaned back in his seat, a grin on his face and a “clawed” finger tapping his chin contemplatively. “Actually, yeah. Yeah. How ‘bout we go for a spin right now?”

“Um, go for a what?” You turned to give him a confused look, but in a second the room had faded away. All at once, you felt extremely disorientated. Freddy and the room and your dream-victim and everything else was gone, and all you could see in every direction were red and green spirals, spinning around and around and up and down, sideways and everyways. You could barely process what you were looking at - they didn’t seem to conform to any kind of consistent shape or direction. You couldn’t tell if you were standing in a tiny claustrophobic room or a vast void.

At first you tried to look away, up or down or behind you, anywhere you thought the spirals might not be. But soon even your sense of direction was totally befuddled. You shut your eyes, but the second your eyelids snapped together, you just found yourself staring wide-eyed at the moving walls again. Repeated attempts yielded the same result.

You lost your sense of balance, and with a pained groan you collapsed to your knees. You brought your hands to your head, clutching it tightly, trying to make it stop spinning and pounding and hurting. You wanted to cry out, you wanted to tell Krueger to stop whatever the hell it was he thought he was doing, but you felt too nauseous to make a sound. It felt like the bright spirals were burning their way into your eyes, into your head… Eventually they seemed to consume your mind, pushing all thoughts aside, and you couldn’t even feel panic anymore. You just stared straight ahead, open-mouthed and wide-eyed. Your hands fell limply onto your lap. You had no idea how much time passed like this.

When you came to your senses, the first thing you felt was a trail of cold drool dribbling from the corner of your mouth down to your chin. You tried to raise a hand to wipe it away, but your wrists seemed to be stuck on something behind your back. You wiped your chin against your shoulder instead.

As you regained your wits, you realized that you were kneeling on a rusty metal catwalk in Freddy’s boiler room. You tried to stand, but something seemed to tug at your wrists. You looked over your shoulder and down. There were rusty chains looped around your wrists, arms and legs, then threaded securely through the holes in the catwalk floor.

You shook your head and cleared your throat. “Ugh… Hey! Freddy!” You shouted into the apparently-empty room.

You nearly jumped out of your skin as you immediately felt a hand slide onto each shoulder (one significantly pointier than you preferred, for something so close to your face), and breath on the back of your neck.

“Yeah?” You could practically hear the grin in his voice.

“Uh could you maybe, let me go? Also what was the deal with the weird swirly room?”

“hm... Nah. We’re gonna have some fun.” Well, at least he had the courtesy to answer ONE of your questions.

Freddy ran his ungloved fingers up through your hair, the disgustingly rough skin of his fingertips scraping along your scalp. You weren’t quite sure what he was on about but, well, he seemed pretty dead-set on it, so might as well just let him do what he wanted. It wasn’t like you were in a position to protest anyway.

Suddenly he gripped a handful of your hair tight, yanking your head back as you let out a surprised yelp. The distant ceiling filled most of your vision, but you could also see the rim of his hat in the top corner of your vision.

You shifted uncomfortably, feeling the strain on your back, but not able to ease it while stuck in a kneeling position.

“Y’know,” He said in a voice that almost sounded tender, as he ran a knifed finger slowly down one side of your face. “You’re not exactly easy on the eyes. In fact, I think it’s fair to say, you’re pretty fucking ugly.”

“Oh gee, than-” As you opened your mouth to speak he tried to stick the blade inside, but you managed to clamp your teeth shut just in time. He laughed at your sudden fearful expression.

“But, y'know, that’s ok…” He crooned, running the knife slowly over your teeth with a tiny clink clink clink as you grimaced. “Looks aren’t everything.”

He leaned forward to grin down at you with a wicked look in his eye, and all of a sudden you felt excruciating pain in the corner of your mouth. You pulled away as best you could, but you couldn’t shake his grip on your hair. You could feel hot blood dribbling down your chin and onto your shirt at an alarming rate.

“FUCKING- AACK! Wh- A-are you crazy?? What are you doing???” As you spoke you felt the tear in your cheek rip open wider, and you had to cough out the blood running to the back of your throat. It hurt like hell, and you were scared that you would lose some serious blood before you managed to wake up. How were you going to explain this at the hospital?

Ignoring your panicked protests, Freddy allowed his bloody blade to roam up and down the sides of your face. Humming a silly little tune to himself over your pleas and screams, he slowly carved one deep gash after another across your face.

You were really struggling against the chains now, but they held you firmly in place - they even seemed to get a little tighter as you tried to pull free.

You felt overwhelming panic.

How were you going to explain this when you woke up? Were you even going to wake up? After all the time you’d spent following his orders and putting up with his bullshit, was he really just going to kill you now??

“Hmmmm…” Freddy tapped one of your eyelids, then the other. “I don’t think you really need BOTH of these, do you?”

You sucked in a sharp, fearful breath between your bloody teeth. You fought against the chains, hard. They dug deep into your wrists. You shut your eyes tightly and tried to turn your face away, but to no avail.

“Y-you can’t be serious! Please, you’re making a huge mis- AAAARGH!” He pushed a blade straight into your eye, right through the eyelid. You screamed and thrashed and pleaded incoherently as he pushed the blade in deeper, then gave it a sharp turn. You heard something that sounded sickeningly like a pop inside your skull.

Suddenly, the hand tangled in your hair seemed to disappear, and you had the sense that he was no longer standing behind you. You slumped forward, gritting your teeth and groaning in pain. You opened your one good eye, and the floor of the catwalk filled your vision. Blood dribbled down at an terrifyingly steady pace from your face. It quickly filled the little metal patterns of the catwalk, then dropped like rain through the holes before hitting a hot boiler far below with a hiss.

Raising your eye just a little, you saw a pair of brown shoes standing in the blood. Slowly, laboriously, you looked up at him. He was grinning down at you, apparently admiring his own handiwork.

“Definitely an improvement.” He chuckled. “Wanna take a peek for yourself?”

Instantly, a large mirror appeared in front of you. It was oval with ornate metal carvings along the sides. It looked like it weighed a tonne. He leaned casually over the top of the mirror, his folded arms resting on it.

Your eye flitted around for a bit before you were able to make eye contact with your reflection. For a moment you didn’t believe that what you was looking at was actually you: your hair was matted down with blood, your mouth seemed to extend impossibly far in one direction. There were dark red cuts and gashes all over your skin, with barely a spot left free of blood. The worst was your left eye: it was a dark, bloody, pulpy mess.

You looked back up at Freddy, slowly.

“This isn’t real, is it?”

“I dunno,” He teased with a grin, “Is it?”

You looked back down at yourself. “I’d be awake right now if this was real. So it can’t be real.”

You opened my mouth slowly, painfully. The shape of the cut made it look like you were smiling lopsidedly. Blood stained your teeth, running through the cracks in dark red lines.

“Heh heh… Can you imagine if THAT’S what I looked like under my mask? I’d scare the bejezuz out of anyone who saw me.”

“Can’t even _imagine_.” He chuckled and waved a hand, and the mirror disappeared. “So,” He continued, grinning down at you. “Want me to fuck you up or what?”

Typical. Only asking permission when he knew you’d say yes.

Silently, you nodded.

His tone turned light and teasing. “Good girl.” Gross.

The chains started moving. The ones around your ankles just pulled tighter, but the ones on your arms snaked their way over your shoulders, then around your neck. You couldn’t help but cry out in surprise as they bent you over backwards, pulling you down until the back of your head touched the floor. Your stomach and chest were left arching upwards, feeling very exposed.

You flinched instinctively when you felt his hand on your stomach, but otherwise you were unable to move. You shivered as he slid his finger-knives under your hoodie, but were surprised when all he did was pull it up to your chest, leaving your stomach exposed.

He leaned his elbow rather painfully on your sternum, resting his chin in his palm with his gloved hand poised over your stomach.

“Lemme ask you a question,” He dragged a blade slowly across your skin, drawing the tiniest hint of blood as you squirmed. “Are you ticklish?”

“Uuhh… K-kinda?” You eyed his blades nervously, but also with excitement that you couldn’t conceal. “W-why? What are you g-gonna- AAAAAAAAA!”

It didn’t matter that you knew this wasn’t real - you screamed and struggled as if for your life as he sunk two blades deep into your flesh. You continued to thrash as he dragged those blades slooooowly horizontally across your stomach. Dark blood bubbled up from the wound as folds of red flesh and… Other things became exposed.

When you were the one doing this to other people, there was nothing quite like the look of unbridled terror that spread across their face as they watched you expose their insides. Now that the roles were reversed, you could taste a hint of that terror for yourself, tingling at the tip of your tongue like you’d just licked a battery…. and booooy, was it ever exciting.

“Having fun down there?”

You responded with a noncommittal whine.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Grabbing a handful of hair at the back of your head, he shoved you painfully forward - the chains realigned themselves to accommodate, and the next thing you knew, you were doubled over with the metal grate before your eye. The hissing sound of boiling blood below you was now constant and loud, and a cloud of rancid smelling steam rushed past your face. When you glanced down at yourself, your gaze was met with a pulsating mass of bloody flesh.

You gulped down a couple of mouthfuls of the disgusting air. “I-” Something caught in your throat, and you choked and coughed.

You felt a pair of blades slide under your chin, gently tilting your face upward. “Hmm?”

“I-I kinda thought, it would hurt m-more… The guts spilling out stuff, I m-mean.”

“Tch. Well, ya don’t have much in the way of nerves here, do ya?”

He dragged bladed fingers through the bloody mess that was once your abdomen, eliciting a few twitching spasms from you.

“But I getcha. Ya want something that you’re really gonna feel, yeah?”

As he spoke, his gloved hand slipped under the bloody waistband of your jeans, and you quickly caught the gist of where this was going.

You got out, at most, a few syllables of panicked protest before you felt an awful, intense, incredibly sharp pain between your legs. Without a hitch, the feeling slid impossibly deep into your body. It took a few seconds to realize that the shrieking noise that filled your ears was coming from you.

* * *

When you came to you were scared to move an inch, least whatever was left of your body dissipated into pulp like a soaked teabag with a hole slashed through it. But you didn’t feel any pain, none at all. Slowly, without opening your eye, you curled and relaxed hand into a soft fist, and were surprised to find that the motion didn’t completely undo you.

Emboldened by the feeling of your own fingernails pressed to your palm, you opened one eye, and then the other. The room came into focus, as if you still had two perfectly good eyeballs in your skull.

Raising your head slightly, you looked around. A big furnace with flames leaping up from the crackling wood behind its thick metal grate met your eyes. Beside the furnace was a wooden stool, with only three of its four twisted legs meeting the concrete floor. Next to it was a wooden table, overflowing with crumpled magazines and dark greasy metal things you couldn’t identify. The light from the furnace flickered around the base of a dirty glass, with less than an inch of grayish water sitting inside.

You sat up, pushing a grimy blanket off your body. The mattress underneath you was familiar: it was Freddy’s bed. You’d seen it a few times while in his boiler room.

You stood up, and looked down at yourself. Not a drop of blood anywhere, from your white bedshirt to your bare toes resting on the warm, dusty concrete floor.

Suddenly, you felt a hand grab your arm in a vice-like grip. Before you could make a sound, the hand pulled you back roughly. For a second you were falling backwards, swept off your feet as pain shot up your shoulder from the rough yank. The next moment, you felt his chest pressed against your shoulders and the back of your head.

Well, you’d said “no” earlier, but even if you did have a choice in the matter, you didn’t feel like putting up a fight.

You’d done this enough times that it barely took a conscious thought. You let yourself relax completely - your body, your mind, everything. Suddenly, you weren’t falling against him anymore: you were just falling.

* * *

You gasped involuntarily, your eyes flying open. It felt like you’d been hit in the chest with a baseball bat. But you weren’t able to react with your usual confusion - immediately, your legs swung over the side of your bed, and your arms reached to the ceiling in a long, luxurious stretch.

“Aaaah! Nothing like a good ol’ physical form in the mornin’.”

The words coming unbidden from your mouth were still disorientating, no matter how many times you did this.

As your body swung back and jumped out of bed (with a slightly more acrobatic flourish than what you’d prefer to put yourself through this early in the morning), you realized the space between your thighs was rather more moist than usual.

He seemed to notice too. With all the subtlety of a kick to the head, he shoved your hand down your pajama pants, then observed your wet, sticky fingers with amusement.

“Boy, someone had a pleasant dream, eh?”

You couldn’t read his thoughts as he rubbed your thumb and forefinger together, then watched contemplatively as he slowly spread the digits apart, a little string of goop stretching between them briefly before snapping. But you knew that he could read your thoughts easily enough, and you had a very strong suggestion. In control or not, your body was almost painfully aroused.

“Eh. Maybe later. Got work t’do now.”

Goddammit.

As he pulled your pajamas off and shoved your still-uncomfortably-moist thighs into a pair of jeans, you unsubtly thought about how much good a shower would do you right about now. 

Instead of acknowledging or answering you, he mentally shoved your consciousness deeper into a far corner of your mind, then went about his business like you weren’t even there.

Deep in your own mind, you let out the smallest, most ineffectual little mental sigh. This was going to be a long day.

At least you had some nice memories to sift through.


End file.
